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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661407">Fish in the water</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainiest/pseuds/miuyi'>miuyi (rainiest)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEVENTEEN (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Apocalypse, Childhood Friends, M/M, Pokemon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:13:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,316</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661407</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainiest/pseuds/miuyi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They say life's a battle, but what if Jun doesn't want to fight?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Director's Cut Fest</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fish in the water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fest rocks thanks mods for being cool</p><p>This fic is set in <a href="https://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/Palmpona">Palmpona</a>, a seaside town between the Ilex forest and Goldenrod city that exists only in the anime.</p><p>In all English language Pokemon media they use 'it' to refer to a Pokemon regardless of its gender, so i've done the same. Though the Pokemon regions are based on real-life areas of the world, i've made absolutely no attempt to match that in this fic with things like cuisine, climate, minor character names etc. Please understand how few brain cells i'm working with here  </p><p>The title is from the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0vzoUpqKTAc">akmu song</a> of the same name, but the song that really kept me going was <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9HR8k8Qi_4Q">this one</a>.</p><p><b>WARNINGS</b>: large-scale catastrophe and loss of life, past death of immediate family and associated grieving, injuries and blood, apocalyptic themes, brief but unsafe cave-diving, uhhh Ash Ketchum and co. are also dead. </p><p>This accidentally turned into a very thinly veiled reflection of the environmental state of our world. If that causes you any anxiety, you might want to consider skipping this fic. (If you’d like clarification on any of these warnings before reading, feel free to come ask on my <a href="https://twitter.com/rlybadweather">twitter</a> or <a href="https://curiouscat.me/rainiest">cc</a>)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>“...north towards Goldenrod City. I repeat, urgent warning for all residents of Routes 33, 34, and Azalea Town to evacuate to Goldenrod City without delay. This is not a drill. The region of Johto urges all citizens to...”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>A winter’s midday. The surf is flat and quiet and the beach is empty, not a soul in sight. There is only one house on this stretch of coast, embedded in the native flora right by the sea. The kitchen windows are open. A radio can be heard playing inside.</p><p>A young man bursts from the front door. He runs down the old wooden steps onto the beach as behind him the door rebounds on its hinges and bangs shut. Time moves slowly through the thickening air. Seconds pass like the beats of a bass drum. The man comes to a stop at the shoreline. The whole world swivels into place around him as he looks up and watches it happen, faster and more devastating than any sunset. </p><p>With the silence of blood spreading over concrete, the winter sky turns ruby red. In the center hangs the sun, an orb of furious white. Everything becomes alien under the orange light: the sand smooth like the skin of an apricot, the red-inked walls of the house.</p><p>The ocean is black and bottomless, an obsidian reflecting fire. The man stares at the horizon where it meets the sky, breathing hard.</p><p>Distant sirens shatter the silence. </p><p>The ground begins to shake.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>TAUROS: The Wild Bull Pokémon</p><p>
  <i>A rowdy Pokémon with a lot of stamina. Once running, it won’t stop until it hits something. They fight each other by locking horns. The herd's protector takes pride in its battle-scarred horns.  If there is no opponent for Tauros to battle, it will charge at thick trees and knock them down to calm itself. It is famous for its violent nature.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Jun believes that there are few things in life more sacred than good food. Nothing else but the promise of burning his tongue on the morning’s first round of deep-fried banana could get him out of bed on Sunday morning to walk the forty minutes to the markets in town.</p><p>“Great batch today, Mr. Meng,” Jun says, breathing out pure steam, tears in his eyes. He’s squatting over one of the faded plastic stools lined up in front of the stall. Mr. Meng’s Oddish picks flowers from the roadside and threads them through the eyelets of his sneakers. </p><p>After that Jun does his usual rounds: he buys fresh vegetables and buckwheat noodles and a small jar of the dried Oran berry powder that he uses to make Pokémon treats. At the fruit stall Ms. Kim slips two big boxes of lychees into the bag with his apples and refuses to take his money for it.</p><p>“They’ll just go to waste otherwise,” she says, with the dismissive kindness only shopkeepers seem to manage. Jun’s twenty-three but people around town still dote on him. “There’s only so much unsold fruit one old lady can eat.” When Jun was younger she’d always cut triangles of watermelon for him to eat while he wandered the markets. She’s a widow now, has been for years. </p><p>He eats a steamed bun so fresh it’s still damp with condensation on a bench facing the ocean. The air tastes like sea salt, frying oil and vegetables entering the first stage of rot beneath the sun. Jun takes a video of the Wingull skimming the waves and chasing each other in circles and posts it to his Instagram story with a filter that makes the sky technicolour blue.</p><p>“Hey,” he says to Seungcheol, the owner of the steamed bun stall. The tragically unattainable heartthrob of choice amongst Palmpona’s teenage girl population, he took over running of the stall, an offshoot of his family’s restaurant a few streets over, from his aging father a year ago. Jun starts recording another video, phone held under his chin and aimed at Seungcheol. “What do you call a Wingull that leaves out milk and cookies for Santa Claus?”</p><p>Seungcheol dries his hands and slings the towel over his shoulder. “Uhh, I dunno. Very considerate?”</p><p>Jun zooms right in so that Seungcheol’s face fills the whole screen. “Gullible,” he says, and his thumb slips off the record button right in the middle of Seungcheol’s laugh.</p><p>At the fisherman’s stall Jun sizes up the heaps of kelp and tries to work out how much he can carry home. He’ll still have to supplement with Pokémon pellets, cheaper and far denser in nutrients, but only applying his good food philosophy to human food would make him an asshole. He’s squatting beside a pile, trying to gauge its weight by sight when a familiar voice says, “Don’t try to do mental arithmetic, you’ll hurt yourself.”</p><p>Jieqiong hops neatly up onto the grassy embankment that separates the market from the beach. Her ponytail is dripping seawater down her back and making a dark splotch on her orange tank top. </p><p>“Hey!” Jun says. “I once won a prize in mental arithmetic!”</p><p>“Yeah, in elementary school,” she says, pausing to drop her sandals on the ground and step into them. “I brought the cart, I’ll take you and all your seaweed home.”</p><p>Jun falls from his squat onto his knees. “You’re saving my life,” he tells her, clasping his hands together at his heart. “They’d have found me on the side of the road in a week's time. Asphyxiated by kelp. My ancestors would be furious that our bloodline ended like that.” The glare from the ocean behind Jieqiong makes him squint. It can’t have been more than a few weeks since he last saw her but he can’t remember when or where or what was said.</p><p>“You’re such a pain, Wen Junhui,” Jieqiong says, breezing by him.</p><p>Jun scrambles to his feet. “You like lychees, right?”</p><p>The Zhous live a little further out of town than Jun, on the next beach over. He and Jieqiong can start walking at the same time and meet at the spit between the bays in eight minutes flat. It used to be a daily thing during summer breaks, but that was years ago now.</p><p>Jieqiong has the cart tethered to a tree at the edge of the markets. Jun goes around the back and offloads the bound piles of seaweed from his shoulders onto the cargo tray. There’s already crates full of pinecones pushed up against the back, Jieqiong’s own groceries sitting atop them. Jun flips up the barrier and latches it shut, rolling his shoulders. Around the front Jieqiong is taking the Pokéball from the holster at her hip.</p><p>“Come on out,” she says, pressing the button at the front with her thumb. </p><p>The ball opens and a streak of ruby light darts out of it onto the shoulder of the road. From it materialises Jieqiong’s Tauros. It shakes its head and paws at the grass, tail swishing. </p><p>“Hey, buddy,” she says. She hefts the harness over Tauros’ muscular shoulders and fastens the tangle of buckles in a matter of seconds. She gives Tauros’ sand-coloured flank a few affectionate thumps. “Ready to head home?”</p><p>On the way Jieqiong updates him on her family: how her brother still wants to be a trainer, that her sister is in Goldenrod for school and loves it there, how her mom keeps asking after him.</p><p>“She’s still holding out hope we’ll end up married,” Jieqiong says, her grasp on the reins slack as they rumble down the road. The tall grass lining the road catches a thread of wind and ripples with it. Jun loves the way the air tastes here, where the sea and the forest meet. He should patent a salt and dirt-scented candle before someone else gets there first. “I think the idea of you all alone in that big house breaks her heart.”</p><p>Jieqiong had always been good at that. Saying things that mattered like they didn’t. Once she told him she loved him right in the middle of offering him a Pringle.</p><p>“Maybe we will someday,” Jun offers, and she slaps him on the shoulder.</p><p>They fork from the main road and down a trail of pressed earth. There’s a signboard advertising LAPRAS TOURS right at the turnoff, the ink weather-worn into blues and whites, that makes it impossible to miss. Jieqiong will have to turn back this way after she drops him off; the road ends at Jun’s house.</p><p>A few minutes later Jieqiong tells him, “There’s a man on your doorstep.” </p><p>Jun assumes she’s messing with him and continues securing the knots on the stack of kelp in the back. It’s not until she says, more urgently, “Junhui, there’s a man on your doorstep and I think he’s hurt,” that he turns around and looks up.</p><p>She wasn’t messing with him. There is indeed a man—tall, silver-haired—leaning on the wall by Jun’s front door. He’s pressing down on a cloth wound around his forearm. At their approach he looks up and raises his elbow like he means to wave.</p><p>“Well,” Jun says, as Jieqiong pulls them to a stop by the narrow wooden path that cuts through the scrub and down to the house. “My day just got more interesting.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>INTERLUDE: TAUROS TROUBLE!</p><p>Today’s adventure finds us in the fields of Route 34 outside Palmpona Town. Our hero is a young girl, thirteen years of age. She’s the eldest of three children, with a resolve of iron and a fiery temper to match.</p><p>Earlier that week a herd of Tauros passed through the area, heading inland to graze. Incredibly strong, aggressive, and notoriously resistant to training, Tauros were rated the least desirable companion Pokémon five years in a row by The Johto Herald for good reason. Our hero however, being thirteen, has much more important things to do than read the newspaper.</p><p>When she stumbles upon a Tauros calf tangled in a barbed-wire fence she does not hesitate, as someone who reads the newspaper might. She hops across the ditch to the fence and drops to her knees in the mud beside the Pokémon. The Tauros, bloody and starved half to death, bleats weakly at her approach.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” she tells it, pulling the pocket knife she carries everywhere from the back pocket of her shorts, something she insists upon even though her best friends tease her for it. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna get you free.”</p><p>It takes her an hour to cut away the wires wrapped around Tauros. It’s been struggling for so long that they’ve sliced into its skin. Every time she pulls a line tight to saw through it Tauros squeals in pain. When it gets distressed and struggles the line jumps in her grip and the barbs slice through her hands. By the time she’s finished her hands are so covered in blood it’s difficult to grip the knife.</p><p>Once free Tauros doesn’t leave immediately to find its herd. She offers to take it to a Pokémon center where it can be patched up and released into the wild again and it refuses adamantly, stomping the ground and blowing air out of its nose. It sticks close to her heels when she stands up, head only as high as her knees.</p><p>“I know what you want,” she says finally, “but I’m not allowed to keep you. I’m not old enough.”</p><p>But Tauros follows her home anyway. For three years it trails behind her, loyal as a lapdog, until her sixteenth birthday when it’s as tall as her shoulder and, finally, she’s legally able to put it in a Pokéball. </p><p>She still has the scars on her hands from that day three years earlier, and they will never completely fade.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>TAILLOW: The Tiny Swallow Pokémon</p><p>
  <i>Taillow courageously stands its ground against foes, however strong they may be. This gutsy Pokémon will remain defiant even after a loss. On the other hand, it cries loudly if it becomes hungry.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>The man’s name is Jeon Wonwoo and he’s a researcher of ancient ruins. The gash in his arm is from a flock of Taillow, which always start getting territorial this time of year. He’d walked the last leg of his journey from the train station beyond the fields with his pale blue overshirt, now bloody and ruined, twisted around his forearm in a makeshift bandage.</p><p>“I really am sorry about this,” he tells Jun, sitting at the kitchen table as Jun rifts through the first-aid kit. Circle-framed glasses, pristine white undershirt and designer jeans: Jeon Wonwoo looks like a Lumiose City boy through and through except for the filthy rucksack that’s leaning against the wall by the door. “I’d have gone into town but I wasn’t sure of the way. Phone died on the train ride.”</p><p>“A good thing you didn’t,” Jun tells him. “No doctor there, and the Pokémon Center closed down years ago.” Jun gathers what he needs in one hand, goes through the mental checklist: saline solution, antiseptic, gauze. He fishes out the surgical glue too just in case it’s deep, which it might be considering how much blood has soaked clean through the shirt. “There’re lots of nice old people, though. They’d have patched you up just fine, but they all use this weird herbal ointment that stings like hell.”</p><p>Wonwoo has a little smile on his face, like he’s thought of a joke he intends to keep to himself. “My best friend always says that if something hurts that means it’s working.”</p><p>“My best friend would tell your best friend he’s an idiot,” replies Jun, which makes Wonwoo laugh. He has a quiet laugh, like he’s trying to fog up a window. It feels weird to hear a stranger’s laugh fill the kitchen of his family home. Jun can count on one hand the number of instances in his lifetime a customer has been in the house instead of the reception office across the Lapras pool.</p><p>“Alright, Mr. Jeon,” Jun says, dragging a chair up opposite him and plopping down into it. He switches on the reading light he’d brought over from the sitting room and adjusts the angle so that it’s bearing down over Wonwoo’s arm. “Take that shirt off and show me what you’ve got.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>LAPRAS: The Transport Pokémon</p><p>
  <i>They have gentle hearts. Because they rarely fight, many have been poached. Their number has dwindled. In the evenings, it is said to sing plaintively as it seeks what few others of its kind still remain. Able to understand human speech and very intelligent, it loves to swim in the sea with people on its back.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>After the Ash-Ketchum-sized shit hit the fan, the governments of the world stopped turning blind eyes for long enough to cave to public pressure and acknowledge that the risks and responsibilities that came with a Pokémon were less like a school project and more like a marriage, and in no region was it legal for eleven-year-olds to run around the countryside eloping. In the years that followed, while Jun was still learning to walk, lab starter programs were axed and Pokémon journeys were replaced by a full twelve years of respectable classroom education. The age of ownership was raised to sixteen in every region. </p><p>Due to several hard-fought court battles by rights groups, Pokémon could no longer be bought and sold for private ownership. Trading was rebranded as adoption and came with regulations out the ass. Safari zones closed. Large-scale manufacture of capture aids or anything more powerful than a Great Ball was criminalised. In other words, these days there was none of that <i>I choose you</i> shit of decades old. You had to pray to your legendary Pokémon of choice and hope that a wild Pokémon deigned to choose <i>you</i>.</p><p>A little luck didn’t hurt either. There’s the legendary story of Hansol from Jieqiong’s grade who, on a family road trip, went to use a gas station bathroom in the middle of the night and happened to choose the stall where a juvenile Ekans was curled beneath the toilet seat.</p><p>“Guess that’s why the teachers always remind us to keep an empty Pokéball on us,” he grinned the next day, relaxed as can be. He had his body angled so that the shaft of sun coming through the classroom window perfectly framed the purple snake draped over his shoulder. Jun wondered if it was on purpose or if that kind of thing just came naturally once you had a partner Pokémon. “Still got the fang marks in my ass though.”</p><p>Jun remembers watching Jieqiong approach from a distant field like a returning warrior, a small figure limping through the grass at her side and blood dried in ribbons up to her elbows. He remembers the mysterious sightings in town, a broken bathroom window, and a Pokéball that Minghao refused to let out of his sight.</p><p>Jun has his standard answer down to an art. “There’re half a dozen Lapras outside my back door,” he says to whomever asks. “What else could I possibly need?” </p><p>And that right there’s the money question, isn’t it?</p><p>For a couple of years things were really bad. Even now there are some mornings when, in the minutes between opening his curtains to a blank blue horizon and going downstairs to make himself tea, Jun feels so sad all his insides ache like a second-day bruise. On those days he takes his temperature in the kitchen as he watches the kettle boil just in case, but it always comes back completely normal.</p><p>He always feels better after the unexpected chill of the morning air as he feeds the Lapras and the scent of tea steeping when he comes back inside. If anything, that’s what Jun’s learned. That the little things matter.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>WHO’S THAT POKÉMON?</p><p>█OC█O██: The ███ Pokémon</p><p>
  <i>████ eyes that ███ ███ in ███████, it never ███ ██ ████ escape. Some even ███ ██  emperor █ ███ nights.” ███ █ ███ █ ███ █████ ████ ███, you know it's troubled by ███████. █ ██ ███ leave it be, █ ███ ███ ██.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Jun uses three sticking plasters and a line of glue to put Wonwoo’s arm back together. It must hurt a lot, the three deep gashes running up the outside of his left forearm, but Wonwoo sits back and watches Jun dump antiseptic into him without a word.</p><p>Later, after Jun has mopped Wonwoo’s blood out of his kitchen tiles, they sit down in the office across the deck and work out the specifics. Wonwoo’s changed into a forest green t-shirt that makes him seem much more approachable and is drinking instant coffee out of a styrofoam cup. He explains that he’s in Palmpona Town to create the first comprehensive inventory of a thousand year-old rune writing system that’s unique to this area. For the next two months he’ll hop between the islands that dot this stretch of shoreline so he can study the cave walls, and he needs a guide.</p><p>“I don’t know the area,” he says, “I’d just get lost if I went on my own.” He takes tiny sips of coffee and presses his lips together after every one. Jun can’t tell if it’s because he’s trying not to gag or something. He seems like the kind of guy who’d be particular about coffee. “And besides, I can’t go crawling around in caves unless there’s someone on the surface to make sure I crawl back out.”</p><p>It’s heading into the off-season, getting colder by the day. He sent Hansol, who helps him out during summers, home three weeks ago, and he’s only had a couple of bookings since then. If Jun has rooms, Wonwoo says, he’d be grateful for lodging between expeditions to save him the trek into town for a hotel. Jun’s rented out the first-floor bedroom before over the years—to a trio of friends on a surfing trip, an older couple from Unova—and says he’d be glad to.</p><p>For the expeditions, Wonwoo offers to pay him a daily rate that, even when Jun cuts it down by a third, is still more than enough to cover costs and is ten times what he’d bring in if it were business as usual. Jun jokes, “Jeez, did your parents invent the Pokégear or something?” and Wonwoo is suddenly so absorbed in the pamphlet on the desk in front of him that he never answers. </p><p>When they’re done in the office, Jun excuses himself out to the deck and calls Jieqiong. He rarely talks to anyone on the phone for non-business reasons and when she picks up the dislocation of it hits him like an anvil from the heavens. How her voice can be so close when she’s in a pretty stone house on the cliffs with her family and Jun is two bays away looking out over the ocean, the tallest thing for miles.</p><p>That night as he’s getting ready for bed, Jun swears he glimpses something huge and whisper-quiet sweep by his bedroom window. When he goes over and looks out there’s no sign of life close by. Far away there is Jeon Wonwoo, sitting at the end of the dock and peeling a lychee. He has a little pile of skins going at his side. </p><p>Thank god. In all the commotion Jun had forgotten to shaft a box of lychees off on Jieqiong, leaving him with way more than he could ever eat. He’d left them in a nice ceramic bowl in the middle of the dining room table like he was baiting a trap and felt a bit naughty about it, but if he’d had to eat all that fibre on his own he’d be shitting for days.</p><p>Wonwoo spits a seed into his palm and drops it in the water. He looks out of place, big city creature in limited edition sneakers out there with the old wood and moonlight and sea so vast it could be one big shadow. </p><p>Lychees finished, Wonwoo is sitting very still now. Lost in his thoughts. Like maybe he’s thinking so too.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They plan to set off in ten days. Both to give Jun time to prepare everything, and for the skin on Wonwoo’s arm to knit together enough that it’s not an infection waiting to happen.</p><p>Over the phone Jieqiong agreed to look after the Lapras while they’re gone. She sounded so mortally offended when Jun sheepishly brought up payment that he didn’t try again, didn’t even threaten to do it anyway since she was already in the books, having worked summer break for his parents several years in a row when they were teenagers before she got too busy with the family business.</p><p>“Just hang out with me before you go,” she said. “Pay me in beers. Oh, and come over for dinner sometime so my mom can stop interrogating me about whether you’re eating enough.”</p><p>Jun makes a list and works his way down it. He excavates the camping equipment from the shed, airs out the tents on the washing line and washes the portable stove in parts, leaving them to dry on tea towels on the kitchen bench. He exercises the Lapras out on the sea one at a time, and strips down to his shorts and jumps in the pool to check their shells for barnacles.</p><p>Jun’s gotten much better at this over the years—planning, organising, executing. Channeling his god-given restless energy into something useful. As the world reeled after Mossdeep City, Minghao had set up camp in the upstairs bedroom opposite Jun’s for a whole year to make sure he didn’t forget to feed the Lapras or himself. That’s where he picked up the list-writing thing. There’s still one on the fridge in Minghao’s neat, stylish handwriting: <i>Sunday: check kelp stores, go to markets, do not purchase entire pound cake just because Mrs. Zhao called you handsome, you vain shit.</i></p><p>He makes two trips into town over the next week and a half. On the first he gets fuel for the stove, canned foods, strawberry jam and peanut butter, and a new waterproof tarp because when he pulled the old one out of the shed he discovered it’d been chewed clean through by Rattata. On the second, the day before they leave, he buys all the fresh stuff: bread baked that morning, a block of hard cheese, fruit and vegetables. It’ll only last a few days before they’re back on the canned shit, but it’ll be worth it. Jun makes them both dinner in the evenings but from what else he’s seen of Wonwoo’s diet the guy’s probably already got a mild case of scurvy on solid ground.</p><p>Living with Wonwoo is like catching a glimpse through an open bathroom window and finding out what brand of shampoo a stranger uses, and that they forgot to hang up their towel. Jun doesn’t know Wonwoo’s favourite colour or what he was like in school, but thanks to the shared wall between the kitchen and guest bathroom he could probably pick the sound of him peeing into a toilet bowl out of a lineup.</p><p>On his first day Wonwoo went for a walk and came back five minutes later sipping from an ice-cold can of Coke, like he’d magicked it out of thin air. Another day he didn’t move from one of the armchairs in the sitting room until sundown, scrolling through his phone. He’s a night owl but Jun also hears him awake at dawn sometimes, pushing open the back door and going out to the deck. He can’t see shit without his glasses and when he’s on the phone his laugh is louder through the bedroom door than Jun’s ever heard him speak.</p><p>“Sometimes,” Jun tells Wonwoo one day as they coexist in the kitchen, “thinking is the worst thing you can do.”</p><p>Wonwoo looked very tired that morning. He’d gotten a phone call the previous evening but when he went into the bedroom to take it there was no laughing. Wonwoo looks up from his pitiful breakfast of instant coffee and buttered toast. “I… don’t think I follow?”</p><p>Jun nods. “That’s fine too.”</p><p>Here’s an unfortunate reality of Jun’s life: he possesses a natural talent for being annoying as hell. In social situations he has the delicacy of a Donphan and is contrary on principle because people telling him what to do makes him antsy. He talks too much and with too little coherence and can laugh for minutes at things no-one else finds funny. “It’d be easier to have a serious conversation with a Chatot,” Minghao always said, but he kept hanging out with him so he couldn't have minded too much. Jieqiong was so immune it must be in her blood, like Jun was an allergen and she’d been exposed as a toddler.</p><p>Jun never did get the hang of filtering himself around everyone else though, so he learned to be quiet instead. He got pretty good at it but if he tries to keep it up for too long it explodes out of him like an overstuffed dumping in a pot of boiling water, messy and unsalvageable. </p><p>Wonwoo’s pretty chill but he also seems like the kind of guy who prefers his own space, and also like the kind of guy who’d be too nice to ask for it. He appears to enjoy Jun’s company at mealtimes but the rest of the day Jun spends out in the vegetable garden, doing odd jobs around the property or hanging out with the Lapras as the season winds down. </p><p>The evening before they set off, Jun dredges four bottles of beer from the back of the fridge and makes his way across the bay to meet Jieqiong. She’s already there when he rounds the corner, perched one of the big rocks at the base of the cliff. The red ties of her bikini top are poking out the neck of her t-shirt at the back like the plumage of a rare bird. It’s one of those things: every spring the flowers start to bloom, the Metapod all emerge from their cocoons as Butterfree, and Jieqiong starts wearing her bikini under her clothes wherever she goes. Soon the weather will turn and after that it’ll be another month or two tops until she trades it in for sweatshirts.</p><p>She knows Jun’s there but doesn’t move as he picks over the rocks toward her. On the opposite beach Tauros is grazing on the tall grasses where the sand gives way to hillside. Hands clasped around her knees, salty black hair down her back and gaze elsewhere, up close Jieqiong looks like a dream Jun could’ve had once, and should’ve if he didn’t. He slides a bottle of beer into her hand, clinks the base with his own and sits down on the rock beside hers. She takes a slow sip, still says nothing.</p><p>Jun gets it, he does. It’s impossible to be here and not think of Minghao: soft-spoken and perpetually underweight, throwing himself from the rocks into oncoming waves like he’d never known fear. Minghao, master of being in two places at once. Yet another way he and Jun are polar opposites. Two years ago in this very spot, Jun was trying to squeeze his knuckles into a Pringles can when Jieqiong told him, “I do love you, you know.” Sour cream and onion has tasted a little like second place ever since.</p><p>“What’s your houseguest like?” Jieqiong asks finally, when they’re both halfway through their first beer and the sun’s a lot lower in the sky.</p><p>“Quiet,” Jun says. Thinks about it some more. “Not at all stuck up like those Kalos guys we get sometimes. Possibly anemic.” When he got back from town in the early afternoon Wonwoo was asleep on the sofa with all the windows open, folded in on himself like he was demonstrating a Defense Curl. Jun hovered over him with a blanket for a good thirty seconds before changing his mind and draping it back over the arm of the sofa. “Seems like he’d be fun to tease but I’d feel too guilty afterwards.”</p><p>Jieqiong laughs, the sound sharp. “You’ve always been too soft, Jun.”</p><p>It really is a miracle they’d stayed friends for so long, having known each other their whole lives and growing up on these beaches together with her younger siblings trailing after them. Jieqiong never cared about their two-year age difference, not even after puberty did such a number on Jun that the other girls in her class couldn’t look him in the eye. </p><p>A classmate once told Jun he was too weird and that’s why no one liked him. When Jieqiong heard about it she turned bright red, stood up from their spot behind the sports equipment shed and stormed across the schoolyard. When he and Minghao caught up with her there was already a crowd forming. At the center Jieqiong was already right up in the guy’s face, a full foot shorter than him, her voice raised. She was no underdog though; clutched in her fist between them was Tauros’ Pokéball.</p><p>She got suspended for a week for threatening another student, but no one ever said anything mean to Jun again.</p><p>Jieqiong is twenty-two now, still stubborn, still the most loyal of friends, and so beautiful she turns heads whenever they walk down the main street during tourist season.</p><p>“You be safe out there, Wen Junhui,” she tells him as they part two hours later. The four empty bottles held by their necks between Jun’s fingers catch the moonlight. “And don’t let the Gastly get your rich boy. He’ll probably sue.”</p><p>When Jun lets himself in the front door the overhead light in the kitchen is off but the reading lamp in the sitting room is sending out an orange glow from around the corner. He puts the beer bottles in a row by the front door for when he next does recycling and toes off his shoes.</p><p>Wonwoo is sitting on the floor. Spread out on the coffee table in front of him is a map the size of a picnic blanket, annotated to high hell. There’s a candle burning on the side-table by the armchair that Jun doesn’t recall owning.</p><p>“Hi,” Wonwoo says, glancing up, silver hair soft and voice softer. “Did you have fun?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jun says. Wonwoo’s wearing a black tank top that dips down several inches at the sides, showing ribs. Oh boy. “What’re you doing?”</p><p>“Tide maps,” Wonwoo explains, gesturing with a bright green highlighter. “When the caves were inhabited thousands of years ago the sea level was much lower. To get into some of them now we’ll have to time it with the low tide.”</p><p>Jun didn’t feel at all tipsy walking home in the salty night air, but that evening his thoughts start veering off in weird directions, like a shopping trolley with a wonky wheel.</p><p>“Don’t you dare, Wen Junhui,” he tells himself in front of the mirror. Toothpaste foam falls from his mouth and lands on his shirt. It leaves a chalky spot even when he swipes it away with his thumb. “Bad idea, Wen Junhui.”</p><p>That night he dreams he’s at a baseball game. The huge pitch lights make everything too bright and too shadowy at the same time. The pitcher is tossing handfuls of soft tofu instead of a ball. He throws a strike and it explodes into chunks all over the catcher. The crowd cheers.</p><p>“Oh boy!” booms the commentator. The words flash up in a loud cartoon font on the twenty-foot tall video display and bounce around like ping-pong balls. <i>Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy!</i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>GEODUDE: The Rock Pokémon</p><p>
  <i>Commonly found near mountain trails, etc. If you step on one by accident, it gets angry. Proud of their sturdy bodies, they bash against each other in a contest to prove whose is harder.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Twenty minutes out into the open sea and Wonwoo’s face is white as a lily and shining with sweat.</p><p>“You should’ve told me,” Jun says, fishing through one of the waterproof saddle bags for a little packet of ginger he always keeps on hand. “That you get seasick.”</p><p>“I don’t,” Wonwoo manages, then immediately presses his lips back together into a tight line.</p><p>“Alrighty well, if you’re gonna be not-sick then do it over the back,” Jun says. He has a script to follow in situations like this that’s much more polite but by now Wonwoo feels more like a friend than a customer. “Don’t be shy now.”</p><p>Their first destination is a small island south-west from Jun’s house, a little over an hour away on Lapras-back. It’s made up of a ring of pebbly beach with a steep ridge of land in the center, trees spiking up the back of it. Jun has passed it many times but never explored it. According to Wonwoo it’s hollow and the sea flows into the caves through deep underwater passages. </p><p>The tall sentinel trees of the Ilex forest are just visible in the distance as Jun dismounts from the Lapras into knee-high water. Wonwoo sits with his head between his knees on the shore as Jun unloads the second Lapras, the one that’d been carrying their equipment, and wades everything over to the beach. Lapras makes a low note of concern, dark eyes on Wonwoo as its fins paddle gently beneath the surface of the water to stay in place.</p><p>“Don’t you worry,” Jun says, patting its broad blue neck. “He’ll be just fine.”</p><p>Wonwoo does perk up twenty minutes later. The two Lapras are splashing about just beyond the breakwater and Jun is standing over the disassembled tent components trying to remember how they go together. </p><p>“It wasn’t like a boat,” he says, coming up behind Jun. He looks a little shaky but there’s some colour back in his cheeks. “I thought it’d be like a boat.”</p><p>“Lapras move slower than boats, and we were going perpendicular to the waves.” Jun squats and picks up a tent peg, just to look like he knows what he’s doing. “That combination really messes some people up. My bad, should’ve warned you.”</p><p>“It’s alright.” He backs away and points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’m gonna go climb that ridge. Come looking for me if I’m not back in thirty minutes.”</p><p>As it turns out, Jeon Wonwoo is as full of surprises as Jun’s final year history exam, at the end of which he turned in only an elaborate sketch of the back of Kim Minkyung’s head. In the spring Wonwoo spent three months free-diving underwater cave systems in Alola and can hold his breath for four and a half minutes. He tells Jun this as he’s up to his neck in the pool of the main cavern. The water is so deep it’s black and his naked shoulders are the only thing reflecting light. The gentle rippling of the water, echoed a hundred-fold, sounds like music.</p><p>He leaves Jun standing at the edge of the pool, staring at the stopwatch on his Pokégear and stressing out of his mind for three minutes and twelve seconds before his head pops back out of the water and he says, barely even breathless, “I didn’t know there were wild Hunttail in this area.”</p><p>Later that afternoon Wonwoo is working on a high ledge when a pair of battling Geodude tumble through the cave wall. Rock shatters with a boom like thunder. The Geodude collide with the pyramid of boulders beside the ledge Wonwoo is crouched on. The rocks topple from their ancient resting places. Some fall and shatter against the ground and others plummet into the pool where they sink out of sight like lost ships. Junhui shoots to his feet at the mouth of the cave as the Geodude disappear down a tunnel that leads deeper underground.</p><p>“Stay back!” Wonwoo shouts. He’s never raised his voice before and it makes Jun stop in his tracks. At a normal volume, like it’d never happened, he says, “The structure isn’t sound. It’s not safe to stand beneath here.”</p><p>The boulders he’d used to climb up are gone and he’s stranded forty feet in the air on a ledge no bigger than a coffee table. With a calm Jun couldn’t possess if his life depended on it, which Wonwoo’s currently does, he folds all his materials away into his rucksack and takes out a thick rope. He secures it around an overhang of rock and, after testing his weight on it several times, uses it to rappel down to the ground.</p><p>“I knew you had a suspicious amount of muscles for a bookworm,” Jun says, as Wonwoo follows him out of the cave into the fading sunlight. He has that same weird feeling he gets walking out of a movie theatre, like he temporarily forgot what the outside world looks like. “Free-diving and rappelling, any other secret talents?”</p><p>“I can pop and lock,” Wonwoo deadpans.</p><p>But the biggest surprise has gotta be this: it’s just after nightfall on their second day on the island and Jun goes to ask Wonwoo when he wants dinner. He’s on his knees at a side-entrance of the cave, tools arranged on a rectangle of cloth beside him. There’s a candle beside him casting a semi-circle of light on the rock. A candle that, upon Jun’s approach, swivels around and blinks up at him with big yellow eyes.</p><p>“Lit?” it says. </p><p>Jun blinks. His brain stops moving. It only kicks back into gear at the sound of Wonwoo’s breathy laugh, like a temperamental lawn mower that you have to start up just right.</p><p>“I was wondering when you’d notice,” Wonwoo says, looking over his shoulder with his measuring tool lowered.</p><p>Apparently Jun needs to learn to be more aware of his surroundings because Wonwoo does indeed have a Pokémon, and it’s been hanging out unnoticed around Jun’s house for the past two weeks.</p><p>“I never have to worry about my torch running out of batteries in the cave,” Wonwoo says that night, as they sit between their tents eating the lentil stew Jun made. “It’s really quite convenient.”</p><p>“Catching a Pokémon for convenience? Isn’t that kinda outdated?” Jun knows he has a problem with speaking before he thinks.  He’s about to jump into backtrack mode but Wonwoo doesn’t seem to have taken it badly.</p><p>“I didn’t catch Litwick for convenience.” He pauses, a weird half-smile on his face like he’s nervous. “If you wanna get technical, I stole it.”</p><p>Jun leans back and laughs, his fold-out chair rocking back on its legs. His bowl rocks with him and spills stew across his lap. “Oh my god, I’m stuck on a deserted island with a criminal!” He’ll have to go rinse his pants in the ocean later and hang them on a tree branch to dry overnight. They’ll be stiff with salt all week. “C’mon, you can’t <i>not</i> tell me that story.”</p><p>Wonwoo’s reluctant, which is fair enough considering he’s quite literally confessing to a crime, but Jun gets it out of him eventually.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>LITWICK: The Candle Pokémon</p><p>
  <i>The flame on its head keeps its body slightly warm. This Pokémon takes lost children by the hand to guide them to the spirit world. The younger the life this Pokémon absorbs, the brighter and eerier the flame on its head burns.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>INTERLUDE: LITWICK MANSION!</p><p>This time our hero is a quiet young man with a passion for history and a dispassion for social events. Unfortunately for him, tonight’s events take us to a large party he is attending just outside his hometown of Lumiose city.</p><p>An abandoned mansion was purchased several years ago by a property developer and turned into an upscale rental space, and it is here the party will be held. Our hero did not wish to attend but as the son of the hosts he had no choice. His silver hair is gelled back and even though the fit is perfect, he looks uncomfortable in his dark grey suit.</p><p>He’d Googled the property before coming, hoping to find a floor plan so he could decide in advance the most unobtrusive corner to camp out in, and instead stumbled on the history of the mansion.</p><p>The mansion had been abandoned for close to a hundred years when it was purchased. In that time it developed its own ecosystem and became a habitat for many wild Pokémon. What they did not flaunt on the website is that when it was purchased and restoration began most of those Pokémon—the  Zubat and Ratatta and Gastly—were forced to flee to the surrounding forests. But not all the Pokémon were well-suited to survive in a forest habitat.</p><p>Our protagonist sits through the meal and makes small talk with the young woman his parents have seated him next to, and as soon as dinner is over and their backs are turned he stands up, thanks her for her company and disappears down an unmarked passage under a shadowy overhang.</p><p>This one, he knows from his research earlier that day, should lead to a balcony. His tie is too tight and his brain feels like a beehive from keeping up a conversation all evening. He hopes the open night air will help him feel calm.</p><p>He’s walking down the corridor, light from the ballroom behind him guiding the way, when there’s movement in the corner of his eye. He flinches to the side just in time for a plank of wood to rocket past his cheek. It ricochets off a wall of the corridor and splinters into pieces. He can’t see anyone ahead of him, but then again his vision has been deteriorating since elementary school.</p><p>“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he says into the darkness. He’s no coward, but he’s also not a fool. “I’ll be leaving now.”</p><p>And then from the darkness comes a tiny purple light. It reveals a doorway ahead that opens up into a room, vague shapes in the gloom. The light stutters closer, no higher than his ankles. It stops two strides ahead of him and upturns its face, at which point our hero understands, all at once, what has happened.</p><p>“Oh,” he says. He folds down onto his knees on the stone floor. “This is your home, isn’t it?”</p><p>The Litwick hops closer to him. Its flame is small and its yellow eyes are big and sad. At the end of the corridor more lights have begun to emerge and illuminate the room in eerie lilac, lining up on upturned furniture or peeking out from beneath abandoned construction materials.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean you any harm.” He offers his hand, upturned. The Litwick hops the final few steps between them and butts its head against his fingertips. The area around the flame on its head feels cold rather than warm.</p><p>The other Litwick stay back, watching cautiously from beyond the doorway. “It’s a terrible thing, to feel like your home is not your own,” he says to them. He cannot see their faces, only the dozens of tiny purple glows. There must be hundreds of Litwick in the whole mansion, living silently in the shadows so his parents can hold a lavish party downstairs. </p><p>“I’m not sure how to help you,” he admits. He comes from a very wealthy family but there’s no way he can buy out an entire mansion.</p><p>As if in reply, the lights begin to disappear, one by one until they're all gone. The doorway is no longer visible in the dark. He understands the message: <i>You cannot help, but as thanks for your concern we will allow you to leave unharmed.</i></p><p>As he gets to his feet, the Litwick beside him grabs his fingertip.</p><p>“Lit,” it says, obviously distressed, “Litwick, Lit!”</p><p>“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry-”</p><p>The Litwick hops around him and taps the pocket of his suit pants, the one where he keeps an empty Pokéball.</p><p>“Oh,” he says and Litwick looks up at him, pleading, the flame on its head flaring twice as bright.</p><p>Three days later, when Litwick’s data doesn’t update properly in his trainer registration, he takes it to his tech prodigy of a friend.</p><p>“Uh oh,” he says, leaning into the monitor. The Pokédex is wired into it like a patient in surgery. “Wonwoo, this Litwick is the property of an organisation.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” asks Wonwoo from the bed, which is only two steps away from the computer. Always practicality over luxury, his friend had rented this matchbox of an apartment in the CBD so he could be a thirty second walk from the office of his start-up. “There were hundreds of them in that place. No one was looking after them.”</p><p>“I’m guessing that it was a workaround,” says his friend, swinging around in his chair to face him. “The developers can’t legally eject Pokémon from their habitat but they also can’t run a private business on top of wild Pokémon. So they register it as a Litwick sanctuary, bribe the inspector who comes to check that it meets the requirements, and <i>boom</i>.” He makes a rainbow gesture with his hands. “You’ve got yourself a successful business.”</p><p>“Seriously?” Wonwoo says, rolling Litwick’s Pokéball around in his hand. “That’s…”</p><p>His friend nods. “Yes. It’s fucked up. But Wonwoo, that doesn’t change the fact that the next time your Pokédex gets scanned for anything it will flag as having a stolen Pokémon registered. Technology doesn’t give a shit about ethics.”</p><p>“I’m not releasing Litwick,” Wonwoo says immediately. “I won’t do it.”</p><p>His friend doesn’t reply.</p><p>“Jihoon,” he says, looking up. His friend’s eyes are already closed like he’s bracing for it.</p><p>“Don’t,” replies Jihoon. “Don’t ask me to do it.”</p><p>“You can though, can’t you?” he asks. A long pause. “Jihoon?”</p><p>It only takes him ten seconds to break. “Damn it,” he says. “Fine, fine.” He swivels back around to the computer. “But you’re bailing me out if I get arrested for this.”</p><p>“I’ll be in there with you,” Wonwoo says. “We’ll have to call Soonyoung.”</p><p>“Oh god,” Jihoon groans. “That’s terrifying.” The keyboard clacks as Jihoon forges a new set of data for Litwick in Wonwoo’s owner registration. “But fortunately my work is immaculate, so it won’t come to that.” He stabs the enter key three times. “And if it does I’m ratting you out for a lighter sentence.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>On day six Wonwoo emerges from the cave, dirt on his knees and under his fingernails, and announces that he’s finished his work on that island. Jun, who was already bored out of his mind by day three, could cry.</p><p>They talk about what to do next over lunch. They have enough supplies to last another several days and the next site on Wonwoo’s list isn’t far from here. But honestly? Jun wants a shower and to check his Instagram. And Wonwoo, not used to spending days out in the elements like Jun is, looks a little like he’s falling apart at the seams. His skin’s peeling from sun exposure and there’s an old-man stiffness to his walk from sleeping on a thin mat on the ground.</p><p>So after lunch they pack up the campsite, load up the Lapras and make the journey back across the sea to Jun’s house. This time they take a loop to avoid the rougher seas, monkey-swinging between islands to shield them from the worst of the waves. It adds half an hour onto the journey but Wonwoo, perched behind Jun on the Lapras shell, doesn’t go green or white or any other colour so it’s a worthwhile detour.</p><p>It’s a pleasant day out on the water, the sky a touch overcast above the mild sea.</p><p>“The ocean here,” Wonwoo says to Jun, after several minutes of silence, “it’s not at all like the ocean in Alola.”</p><p>“Well, of course not,” Jun says. He balances a hand on the neck of the Lapras so he can swing his legs side-saddle and look at Wonwoo. His silver hair is pushed back out of his face by the wind and his expression makes Jun think there’s a lot more on his mind than he’s willing to say out loud. “The sea is just as diverse as the land. Just because we can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”</p><p>Jun can tell what direction the current is coming into the bay from just by the way the water tastes. He’s probably more saltwater than fresh at this point.</p><p>“I learned to swim in a chlorinated pool on the third floor of a highrise,” Wonwoo says. He tilts his face just barely but the change in angle makes the wind push his hair into his eyes. He shakes his head sharply to flick it out of the way. “Lumiose is on the ocean but I can’t remember ever swimming in it.”</p><p>He’s watching Jun now, that look on his face again. Like he’s dropped a line into the water and he’s waiting to see if Jun will bite or if he’ll swim on by. That’s the way Wonwoo does most things. Dips his toes in and waits for an invitation before he slides in all the way up to his chest. </p><p>“You were right, y’know,” Jun tells him. “There shouldn’t be wild Hunttail in this area. Or Qwilfish, or Krabby or Alomomola. They all migrated here as the seas changed.” Wonwoo is looking beyond Jun to the horizon but he’s listening closely to what he’s saying. He listens closely to everything Jun says, now that he thinks about it. “My best friend moved here from Blackthorn City when he was eleven, and the day he left the sky was so upset it tore out half the power lines in town.” Now that was a surreal week. Cooking dinner by torchlight and the awful, missing-a-stair lurch whenever he walked into an empty room expecting Minghao to be there. “There’s more to a home than the place you’ve always been, is my point. Sometimes it’s just wherever you are now. Wherever you want it to be.” </p><p>That’s what Jun thinks, anyway. Isn’t it enough to wake up every morning somewhere beautiful? A place where you know the sea and the sea knows you. Where you can eat breakfast outside and watch the world wake up. The little things.</p><p>Wonwoo’s gaze lands on him for a second, two, unreadable. The same eyes that can decipher thousand-year-old runes carved into rock. How transferable are those skills to twenty-three-year-old flesh and blood?</p><p>“Do you like to read?” Wonwoo asks him finally, which might be the funniest fucking thing Jun’s heard all week.</p><p>When they get home the Lapras are fed and the vegetable garden watered. Jieqiong must’ve come by already that morning. Jun doesn’t spend time away from the house that often and when he slides the back door open, sand in the tracks making it gritty and difficult, there’s a weird few seconds where he sees it like a stranger would. The way the light comes in from the south to strike the stone floors and the lived-in dark wood furniture. The scent of tea and cooked rice lingering in the air.</p><p>Jun takes a thrilling shower where the water constantly switches between icy and boiling hot from Wonwoo messing with the temperature of his shower downstairs. He turns it into a game, listening for the rattle of pipes that means the temperatures about to flip on him and darting out of the spray in the nick of time. He doesn’t touch his own controls for fear of inflicting the same thing on Wonwoo. He also doesn’t think about water that’s the perfect temperature running down the subtle lines of Wonwoo’s bare back-</p><p>For dinner Jun throws together the supplies they brought back and the scraps left behind in the fridge in any combination he can think of while Wonwoo watches from the bar counter. Litwick plants itself proudly between the plates as they set the table. The kitchen lights are on but the ones over the dining table remain off, creating deep slanting shadows that compete with Litwick’s violet glow.</p><p>“Where’d you learn to cook?” Wonwoo asks him, slicing off a piece of green onion pancake with his chopsticks.</p><p>“Taught myself, mostly,” Jun says. “But I picked up some basics from my parents growing up. They’re both pretty decent cooks.”</p><p>“You’re <i>far</i> better than decent,” Wonwoo says, ladling some more soup from the pot into his bowl. “I’m not sure if my parents know how to cook.” He blows on a spoonful of soup, and says, “It must be hard to run things here on your own. I bet you can’t wait for them to get back.”</p><p>Jun gets that terrible freefall in the bottom of his stomach. It’s not as bad as it was at first, when it made him run for the toilet every time, but still bad. </p><p>“My parents are dead, actually,” Jun says. “Well, missing presumed dead.” He laughs awkwardly. Wonwoo freezes with his spoon inches from his lips. His eyes dart up to Jun, wide like a Stantler caught in headlights. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “It was years ago now.”</p><p>Four, to be exact. Long enough ago that he can tell people not to worry about it. Not so long that changing tenses when he talks about them comes naturally, which is probably what gave Wonwoo the incorrect impression they’d be coming back. <i>That’s my mom’s favourite mug. My dad always puts on this record when it’s time to clean and hearing it triggers an instant stress response.</i></p><p>“Jun,” Wonwoo says, eyes earnest and a little desperate, “I’m so sorry, I had no idea…”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Jun says. “I mean, not <i>okay</i> but…” Wonwoo is still holding his spoon in the same place but it’s gradually tilting. All the soup has dripped back into the bowl. “I mean, they went to a conference on sea-bound Pokémon conservation four years ago and never came back.” He wants to laugh again to break the tension but it’ll probably only make them both feel worse. “It’s as okay as that kind of thing can ever be.”</p><p>“Oh,” Wonwoo says. Horror spreads across his face. “In Mossdeep City?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jun says. His head in Jieqiong’s lap as Minghao clinked around the kitchen brewing tea in the dark. The TV on or off depending on whether Jun could bear to look at that moment. He doesn’t like to think about that day. “What’s your favourite colour?”</p><p>“What? My...” Wonwoo leans back, whiplash from the subject change. He puts his spoon down. “Uh, blue.”</p><p>Interesting. Not what Jun expected. “What were you like in school?”</p><p>Wonwoo thinks about that one. “Pretty quiet. Never really fit in anywhere.” Litwick hops over to his hand resting on the table and nudges it until Wonwoo flips it over. “I had one real friend and he was the most popular guy in school. Still confused about how that happened.”</p><p>Jun’s not. Wonwoo is the kind of company that never leaves you feeling lonely. He weighs every word before it comes out of his mouth and listens like a priest in a confessional. Every little thing makes him laugh when he’s in the right mood. </p><p>“Because you’re wonderful,” Jun says. “Who wouldn’t want to be your friend?”</p><p>Wonwoo goes red and tries to laugh through it. There’s something infinitely charming about a man who can be so hot yet so humble. “Uh, thanks. People mostly thought I was weird, I guess.”</p><p>“Same with me,” Jun says. “But you know what they say; if you have even one real friend in life then you’re already lucky.”</p><p>“I have two,” Wonwoo says. That secret smile on his face that, Jun now knows, means he’s thinking about people he loves. </p><p>“Me too,” Jun says. Stares Wonwoo down so he knows he’s serious. “Wanna make it three?”</p><p>Wonwoo leans back and laughs, from deep in his chest. “Are we allowed to just decide like that? Is that how it works?”</p><p>“Of course we can,” Jun says. “That’s how life works. We make up our own rules and we follow them.”</p><p>“Huh.” Wonwoo says. He picks up his chopsticks, thoughtful. There’s a fascinating steadiness behind his eyes. Right now it’s reflecting the dancing violet of Litwick’s flame and making Jun feel all fucked up in the head. “You’re right, there are no rules. Let’s be friends.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>KYOGRE: The Sea Basin Pokémon</p><p>
  <i>Kyogre is named in mythology as the Pokémon that expanded the sea by covering the land with torrential rains and towering tidal waves. Through Primal Reversion and with nature's full power, it will take back its true form. It can summon storms that cause the sea levels to rise. Legends tell of its many clashes against Groudon, as each sought to gain the power of nature.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>The misconception about the end of the world is that it’s an event, when it isn’t at all; it’s a process. <i>A plan</i>, is what Minghao would say if he were here instead of out fighting a war in the shadows. <i>It’s a goddamn plan</i>.</p><p>Everything changed when Ash Ketchum, wanted in several juvenile courts for crimes ranging from assault to destruction of property, died in the crossfire of Team Magma and Team Aqua’s struggle for control of the legendary creation Pokémon. His companions, including a former Pewter City gym leader and an up-and-coming contest star, perished too. </p><p>Groudon and Kyogre were too powerful to remain under human control once awoken from their slumbers. Despite the best efforts of Johto league’s then-champion Lance, who was undercover on the scene, the Pokémon broke free. They each merged with their respective orbs and attained their primal reversions, at which point there was no hope of stopping them. Team Aqua’s Archie and several of his followers escaped. There were no other survivors.</p><p>As governments cracked down on the age of ownership and regulating Pokémon battles, rain fell for a whole year in Kanto and a record-breaking summer defrosted Snowpoint city. Scientists were in clear consensus: if this was the impact of Groudon and Kyogre roaming the world independently, then when they met again the outcome would be catastrophic. </p><p>But with several key political figures in the pocket of Team Aqua, the scientists went unheard. Part of the problem was the scale; there was no telling when they would meet again, only that they would. That level of panic was simply unsustainable. Conspiracy theorists went wild. After being front page news for three months the return of Groudon and Kyogre fell out of public interest and only resurfaced a few times a year when the media deemed it palatable. The world moved on.</p><p>Five years later a tiny island in Alola disappeared under the sea without a sound. World leaders claimed a freak tidal anomaly. Mt. Silver stirred with volcanic activity for the first time in a millenia. Abomasnow went extinct. When the Octillery started washing up dead on the beaches of Route 34 it made the third page of the Johto Herald. Jun was thirteen and for weeks woke up early before school to walk the length of the beach and float their bodies back out to sea. </p><p>Seventeen years passed before it happened. The only warning was a split-second of chaos on the seismographs, and then Groudon appeared off the east coast of Hoenn and pulled an ancient volcano from the depths of the ocean. In seconds the skies went black. Kyogre surfaced and circled the spitting volcano as the sky boomed with thunder.</p><p>From atop his Wailord, Hoenn league champion Wallace was able to force the battle further north out to sea, undoubtedly saving the lives of the millions in nearby Sootopolis and Lilycove city. The battle raged on for a day and a night until the two Pokémon reached a stale-mate and parted ways. For Mossdeep city, right at ground zero, it was already far too late.</p><p>Jun was nineteen and only expecting to be left home alone for a week. He went through the stages of grief, textbook. His parents were experienced sailors, they had their Lapras with them. They’d be coming over the horizon any day now.</p><p>“Jun,” Minghao said, eyes tragic but voice firm, “Lance had a Gyarados seventeen years ago and even he didn’t make it. You’re in denial.”</p><p>So Jun slid right into the second stage by telling Minghao to get the fuck out of his house. You always think you know everything, huh? Fuck you.</p><p>The anger phase lasted three days before Jun was begging him to come back. He would’ve gotten on his knees to plead for forgiveness but Minghao just hugged him hard right there on the doorstep and said, “There’s nothing to forgive.”</p><p>And so it went on. Jun closed the business for the rest of the year and lived off savings. Jieqiong was busy with her final year of school. Jun mostly kept it together during the day but the nights were always bad. When Minghao realised Jun was having nightmares he stopped going home and started sleeping in the bedroom next door. Jun lost so much weight he could count his ribs in the bathroom mirror on the occasion that he was dragged there to shower by Minghao, Jieqiong, or some ungodly tag-team combination of both.</p><p>Since he was seventeen Jun had been agonising over which one of them he should kiss. He took so long that in the meantime they took it upon themselves and started kissing each other. Jun was silently bitter about it for a while, but then Mossdeep went under and suddenly he didn’t give a shit that Minghao snuck out of the house every night so they could hold hands under the moonlight or fuck in the bushes or whatever. He loved them both and they loved him. Grief simplified things that way.</p><p>The world did not forget. Monuments were built and memorials televised. SUPREME released a tribute collection and a year later, on the one bar street in town, Jun nearly punched out a guy who was wearing it. </p><p>“Let go,” Jun seethed, trying to slide out of his seat. “C’mon, I’d want to punch him anyway.”</p><p>He was a real loudmouth type who peacocked in like he owned the place and immediately tried to hit on every woman sitting at the bar. But Minghao’s iron grip stayed locked around Jun’s wrist until the guy was out of sight.</p><p>“We don’t punch people, Jun,” Minghao said, finally letting his wrist go. Jun rubbed the red ring left behind in his skin and took a sulky gulp of his beer. “Even if they’re pieces of shit.”</p><p>Acceptance hit like a tonne of feathers. No less heavy, just easier to dig himself out of. Minghao, a natural-born connoisseur of life, taught him about the healing properties of tea and how to love the way the air tastes at dawn. It took a superhuman effort but Jun never did give in to his urge to pin him against the kitchen sink and kiss him breathless.</p><p>And what happened next, well, Jun’s not sure if he resents it or admires it. How one day they were jumping from cliff tops and drinking flat beers out on the rocks and the next Minghao, fire in his eyes, was talking about corruption and media suppression and <i>Suffering, Jun. So much needless suffering</i>. Not long after that, he packed a bag and left.</p><p>And then it was just him. Jieqiong across the bay and Hansol in the summers. </p><p>The Lapras outside the back door. A big house by the sea.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>TEAM AQUA</p><p>
  <i>Team Aqua is one of two villainous teams that was founded in the Hoenn region prior to the return of Groudon and Kyogre, along with their rivals, Team Magma. Following the return of the legendary creation Pokémon and the disbandment of Team Magma, they have expanded their forces throughout every region. Team Aqua wishes to expand the sea to wipe out human civilization and return the world to its beginnings, so that Pokémon can live untainted by humanity's progress.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Jun has found that there are some memories that don’t fade quite right, that only get sharper and brighter as time passes. The weather turns. Summer evaporates into cold days and colder nights. </p><p>When Jun thinks of those weeks twenty years from now, he’ll see Wonwoo clear as anything, sitting on that rickety fold-out chair in the sand with a blanket around his shoulders and the tip of his nose red from the night’s leftover chill. He’s holding an empty mug and staring at the water boil on the camping stove. The sky above is the palest of blues and when Jun says <i>good morning</i>, Wonwoo looks up, gentle light in his eyes, and says it back.</p><p>They tackle Wonwoo’s second island, his third and fourth and fifth. He stops getting seasick and starts to recognise the currents. The Lapras greet him in the morning when he unzips his tent and crawls out. Jun keeps running into him at dawn as he wakes up and begins boiling water for the day, coming back from the opposite side of the island.</p><p>“Morning yoga,” he says unconvincingly, but Jun doesn’t pry.</p><p>From dawn til dusk he works on his knees in the caves. Every day Jun’s pulling out the first aid kit to patch up some new graze or cut. And every day without fail Wonwoo emerges sometime after sundown, unfolds a chair on the sand and talks to Jun while the waves hush over the shore. Sometimes for hours. He thinks the weather in Kalos sucks. One time in middle school he started a fire trying to boil pasta. He’d take a bullet for his little brother. </p><p>Alright, truth be told, Jun’s got it bad. Wonwoo is terribly handsome, that silent heartbreaker of a leading man look that he’s been into ever since he realised he was into guys at all. He’s patient and clever and incredibly thoughtful. He’s certainly no open book but he clearly likes being around Jun. And for Jun, who could never quite forget the time someone told him he was too weird to like, that sure does feel nice.</p><p>But there’s a lot Wonwoo keeps to himself too.</p><p>Jun sees the boat first, just as it crests the horizon. They’re at the furthest point in their loop from Jun’s house and not close to any islands. He waits a minute, lets it get closer so he can be sure.</p><p>“So,” he says over his shoulder to Wonwoo, “don’t freak out, but there’s a boat coming towards us and it could be kinda bad.”</p><p>Wonwoo doesn’t freak out. “I see,” is all he says. The boat is close enough now that Jun can make out two people on board, both dressed in all blue.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Jun says, “I’ll do the talking.”</p><p>The boat approaches them in a straight line. Ahead of it a shadow slices through the water toward them, obscured below the surface. Lapras bells anxiously as it circles them. Jun rests a hand on the back of its neck. </p><p>“Easy, now,” he says. “Easy.” Wonwoo is silent behind him but Jun can sense his tension.</p><p>The engine cuts out as the boat draws nearer. “Afternoon,” Jun calls, waving, once it’s within shouting distance. “Lovely day to be out on the water!”</p><p>The Team Aqua grunts pause a moment, caught off-guard. A Poochyena puts its front paws on the edge of the boat and peers over at them, ears alert.</p><p>“And what exactly is it you two are doing out here today?” the woman asks. She must be the more senior of the two.</p><p>“Some humble cave exploration,” Jun replies. The shape in the water is still circling the two Lapras but Jun doesn’t look at it. “My friend here is quite the archaeology enthusiast.”</p><p>“That so?” the woman asks, looking at Wonwoo.</p><p>He glances at Jun before he answers. “Yes. I’m researching for The University of Lumiose.” </p><p>Poochyena starts barking. The grunts look at each other. “A university, huh?”</p><p>Uh oh. “In the loosest sense possible,” Jun backtracks. “Y’know, Department of Archaeology. They might as well be getting funded in Pokémon treats.”</p><p>“Uh huh,” she says. She shushes the Poochyena. “Got any Pokémon with you?” The young man behind her takes out a device from his pocket.</p><p>Fuck. “I’ve only got these two Lapras,” Jun says. “They’re registered under an organisation- I run Lapras tours as part of the species conservation program. You should follow us on Instagram.”</p><p>The man aims the device at Jun. “Checks out,” he says. Looks at Wonwoo. “You?”</p><p>“A Litwick,” Wonwoo says. His voice is tense.</p><p>“A research assistant, if you will,” Jun elaborates. “It gets awful dark in those caves.”</p><p>The machine beeps. “Says here that there are two Pokémon on him,” the man says.</p><p>“No,” Wonwoo whispers, so quiet that only Jun hears it.</p><p>The woman leans forward. From beside them, the shadow beneath the water surfaces and a Carvanha bears its needle-sharp teeth. “Does it now?”</p><p>Wonwoo says nothing. Not like he’s processing his words, but like he’s refusing to reply.</p><p>“Wonwoo,” Jun urges quietly. The Lapras are beginning to panic. Jun grips its shell with his knees so it doesn’t cower away from Carvanha.</p><p>“A Litwick, huh?” the woman continues. “Wouldn’t happen to be another fire-type you have on you, would it?”</p><p>“No,” Wonwoo says tersely.</p><p>Jun knows that Team Aqua are constantly paranoid about the re-emergence of Team Magma. Universities are on their shit-list too, for publishing article after article that points to the eventual extinction of humanity. That is, of course, Team Aqua’s hope. They just don’t want enough people aware enough of it to fight back.</p><p>“It’s not a fire-type?” she asks. “Think you’re gonna have to prove that.”</p><p>Wonwoo looks at Jun, panic clear in his eyes. His hand is fastened protectively over the Pokéball pouch at his belt.</p><p>“I think it would be wise,” Jun says carefully, “to not let this come to battle.”</p><p>Neither of them are trainers. Jun’s Lapras are not experienced in battle, and Wonwoo’s Litwick can’t do anything against the Pokémon the grunts might have, especially on ocean terrain.</p><p>Wonwoo stares. He slowly undoes the pouch and pulls out a Pokéball. He presses the button and it expands to its full size. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo says, but he’s not talking to Jun.</p><p>The Pokéball opens and a red light shoots out. Fast as an arrow, it skims over the dark blue waves. It carves a broad loop through the air. When the red light dissipates it's so far away that Jun can only make out a large, brown blur. It’s only when it circles back around and flaps its enormous wings to land directly on Team Aqua’s boat that Jun’s able to identify it.</p><p>Noctowl cocks its head and stares at the grunts with huge ringed eyes. As tall as a human and wingspan three times longer, the boat rocks with its weight. Poochyena’s hackles raise and the grunts take a step back.</p><p>Jun runs with it. “It’s nocturnal, you see? That’s why my friend didn’t want to let it out. Nothing worse than fucking up your sleep schedule, am I right?”</p><p>Noctowl looks at Jun then, moving nothing but its eyes. Sure, its red pupils are kind of freaky, but there’s a calm intelligence there too. Noctowl shuffles its talons on the edge of the boat and looks back at the grunts.</p><p>“A Noctowl,” says the female grunt, inspecting Noctowl from a distance. “That’s pretty rare. Useful, too.”</p><p>“It doesn’t know Fly,” Wonwoo replies. His face betrays nothing but his shoulders are tight like an edgy cat.</p><p>“Still,” she says. “They can be strong in battle when trained. Tell me kid, have you ever felt frustrated with humanity?”</p><p>It’s only because he’s been living with him for two months that Jun can tell that the minute shift in Wonwoo’s expression means he’s angry. “Not really,” he replies, tone perfectly mild.</p><p>Satisfied that they aren’t undercover Team Magma members or, god forbid, environmental scientists, the grunts let them go soon after. Noctowl takes off from the boat and soars out of sight over the horizon in the direction of Jun’s house, but Wonwoo doesn’t seem worried so Jun isn’t either.</p><p>Wonwoo helps him unload in silence when they dock. Noctowl is nowhere in sight. Jun dumps his bag in the living room and goes up to take a shower, and when he comes out there’s a message from Wonwoo timestamped twelve minutes ago.</p><p>
  <i>Are you upset with me?</i>
</p><p>Jun throws on a clean t-shirt from his drawers and goes downstairs. Wonwoo is sitting with his feet tucked up on his usual armchair by the window, surrounded by their abandoned bags.</p><p>“No,” Jun says. He props one hip on the back of the sofa.</p><p>Wonwoo looks down at his lap. Jun’s phone buzzes in his hand.</p><p>
  <i>Are you sure?</i>
</p><p>Jun laughs. “Yes. Why would I be mad?” Wonwoo types for a few seconds then looks up. A message appears at the bottom of Jun’s screen.</p><p>
  <i>I kept Noctowl secret and it almost got us into a battle.</i>
</p><p>Jun shrugs. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I’m not gonna get mad without hearing them out first.”</p><p>So Wonwoo puts down his phone and tells Jun everything.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>WHO’S THAT POKÉMON?</p><p>IT’S... NOCTOWL!</p><p>NOCTOWL: The Owl Pokémon</p><p>
  <i>With eyes that can see in pitch-darkness, it never lets its prey escape. Some even call it “the emperor of dark nights.” When it turns its head entirely upside down, you know it's troubled by something. If you don't leave it be, it will peck you.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>INTERLUDE: OWL CITY!</p><p>There’s not much to this story. In fact if you were to ask our protagonist yourself, he’d probably refuse to tell you at all.</p><p>It starts like this: in one of Lumiose City’s tallest residential highrises, a Noctowl blows onto the balcony at three in the morning. </p><p>“Guys,” says the boy inside, a seventeen-year-old in his final year of high school. He’s up late playing the new release of his favourite game series. “I’m gonna go check on something, wait.”</p><p>He removes his headset and wheels his chair backwards from the computer. When he pulls back the curtain a pair of huge red eyes are staring back at him. Noctowl puffs up defensively. The boy doesn’t move, and for several seconds they stare at each other through the glass. Noctowl doesn’t seem hurt but it looks malnourished and exhausted. </p><p>Noctowl bristles when he reaches for his pocket, but deflates as the boy pulls out his phone and opens UberEats.</p><p>Half an hour later he slides open the door and steps out, balcony tiles freezing against his bare feet.</p><p>“I googled it,” he says. “It said you’re omnivorous. I can’t hunt for you, but…” He can place an order at the 24-hour salad place in the center of town. Heavy on the sunflower seeds, no dressing. The delivery guy looked exhausted but still managed to give him a judgmental look.</p><p>“The fuck happened to you last night?” asks his friend the next day at school.</p><p>“Nothing,” he says, slamming his locker shut and shouldering his backpack. “I fell asleep.”</p><p>He knows how it is. How flying-type Pokémon are worth their weight in diamonds but the hardest of any type to catch, unwilling to sacrifice their freedom. He’s heard whispers of poaching groups. Of an illegal black market selling them at astronomical prices to the wealthy 1% who want the next best thing to a private jet.</p><p>Noctowl is still on the balcony when he arrives home from school. It looks like it might’ve been sleeping, but it’s wide-awake when he approaches. It watches warily but doesn’t puff up as he slides open the balcony door.</p><p>“I’ve looked it up,” he says. “You need a certain type of tree to roost in or you’re vulnerable to poachers, and that species only exists in Johto. But it’s a long, dangerous flight to get there, and you’re too weak right now to even try.”</p><p>He has another salad, and Noctowl edges closer as he takes the lid off. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do. But you can stay here as long as you need. No one will know.”</p><p>His brother is suffering through the same edgy middle school phase he’s just escaped from and barely leaves his own room. He can’t actually remember the last time he saw his parents come into his room. Or into the apartment long enough to do anything except grab some documents from the office, make a phone call and leave again.</p><p>For a year it goes on like that. Noctowl begins taking short flights at night, and then longer ones. By the time he graduates from high school, Noctowl sweeps in most mornings just as dawn crests over the city and settles into the balcony to roost.</p><p>“I’m going to Unova,” he tells Noctowl one morning as it arrives back. It’s the summer of his first year of university. The home-screen animation of the game he’s been playing lights up his bedroom and reflects on the glass. On the desk beneath it research papers and textbooks are strewn about. “I’m going to Chargestone Cave with a research team. You can come, if you like.”</p><p>Noctowl doesn’t use its voice much, but it has very expressive eyes. </p><p>“Yes,” he says, “you’d have to be in a Pokéball. I can’t take you internationally otherwise.” There’s an empty one inside on his desk right now. It’s been sitting there for months, in clear view from the balcony window. “If you come with me, I promise I’ll never make you learn Fly. I won’t ever make you battle. And I’ll keep you secret.” He’s nervous, he realises, heart-pounding in his throat. After all this time, Noctowl has become his friend. “It’ll be just like now, but somewhere else. I’ll let you out every night and be waiting for you every morning when you come back so you have a safe place to roost.”</p><p>Noctowl stares at him for a long minute. Then it folds its face beneath its wing and goes to sleep.</p><p>Later that day when he comes back into his room after a shower, Noctowl is gone. On his desk, the last tinges of a scarlet glow are fading from the Pokéball.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jun’s noticed that there are certain things in life you can sense coming.</p><p>For example: when the air grows heavy and the skies turn grey, he knows the last storm of the season is on its way. </p><p>Jun loves this shit. Opens the windows on opposite sides of the house to get a crossbreeze going and stands in the middle of the dining room, directly in the path of the wind sweeping inland off the ocean. It’s so full of salt it makes his eyes sting.</p><p>The wind picks up, and up and up. The curtains on one side escape their fastenings and get thrown into the air. Jun hears something fall off the kitchen bench. The wind howls through the house and Jun has to lean into it to stay on his feet. When he opens his mouth the wind floods in and hits the back of his throat.</p><p>Wonwoo appears in the doorway to the side of the room, his eyes big like a nocturnal Pokémon.</p><p>He cups his hand around his mouth and calls, “Is everything okay?”</p><p>“Of course!” Jun yells back. The wind rips at his t-shirt and makes him slide in his socks. “Why wouldn’t it be?”</p><p>Wonwoo steps out of the doorway and into the wind. He staggers under the weight of it and almost falls. Jun laughs and reaches for his hand.</p><p>“This isn’t, like, a nervous breakdown?” The wind steals the words from his mouth. He has to yell to be heard. “A cry for help?”</p><p>Jun laughs, as loud as he can to make sure Wonwoo hears it. “No!" Their hands finally grasp. “I just think it’s wonderful! Feeling the seasons change with your whole body!”</p><p>Jun pulls Wonwoo to his side by the hand. There’s something in his eyes Jun’s never seen before. Part exhilaration, part something else.</p><p>“You’re leaving,” Jun says. Not a question. </p><p>There are certain things you can sense coming. Wonwoo didn’t mention the next island on his list as they prepared for the trip home yesterday. Didn’t all throughout the evening or during dinner, didn’t talk about work at all.</p><p>“Yes,” Wonwoo says. They’re close enough that there’s no need to shout. Wonwoo is holding onto Jun’s elbow to steady himself. “The tides aren’t right for the rest of the islands. My flight is tomorrow.” A flash of something behind his eyes that might be daring, but it’s gone as soon as it appears. “I’ll be back in the spring, if you’ll have me.”</p><p>“Hope this storm doesn’t ground all the flights! Maybe you’d get stuck here forever!” Jun likes to think he’s perfected the art of saying what he means and making it sound like a joke.</p><p>Wonwoo laughs. If Jun’s good at saying what he means, Wonwoo’s good at hiding it. “Maybe I would,” he says, and Jun can’t read anything behind his words.</p><p>And then the rain finally hits, and they’re running for the windows and slamming them closed before Jun’s house floods.</p><p>The next afternoon Jun walks him to the train station across the fields. From there he’ll take the hour-long train to Goldenrod, where the closest international airport is, and take an overnight flight to Lumiose City.</p><p>“The Taillow might get you if you go alone,” Jun says, doing up his shoelaces.</p><p>“Nesting season’s over,” Wonwoo says, standing behind him in his socks, waiting for Jun to make space in the entryway. “And besides, what are you gonna do? You gonna fistfight a bird?”</p><p>“I would for you,” Jun says, shouldering Wonwoo’s heaviest bag before he can get to it himself. </p><p>At the edge of the fields, just as they approach the station, Noctowl appears silently from the dusk sky and lands with a flurry of air.</p><p>“Hi,” Jun says. The bird Pokémon’s head swivels to look at him. “It was good to finally meet you, Noctowl.”</p><p>Noctowl stares at him. Jun can’t tell if it’s an acknowledgement or a <i>Who the fuck are you?</i>  Wonwoo returns it to its Pokéball before he can ask.</p><p>Jun makes Wonwoo promise to eat at least one vegetable per day and waves him off at the ticket gate. Swaying under the weight of his bags, he turns right on the platform to line up near his assigned carriage and disappears out of sight. Jun waits ten minutes until the train arrives anyway. He waves again as the train pulls out, but there’s no one to wave back.</p><p>Jun makes the twenty minute walk back home. The sun has set and the chill of yesterday’s storm still lingers. It won’t go away until next year. </p><p>Light glows out through the kitchen window as Jun unlocks the door. Weird, since he’d left when it was still light out, but leaving lights on isn’t even a blip on the chart of weird things Jun’s done in his lifetime.</p><p>The scent of freshly brewed tea hits him as he opens the door. China clinks from somewhere around the corner. </p><p><i>It can’t be,</i> Jun thinks, as a feline silhouette passes by the window at the far end of the room. <i>It can’t.</i></p><p>He stumbles out of his shoes and around the corner, catching the door frame for balance.</p><p>“No way,” Jun says. His face splits into a grin. “No fucking way.”</p><p>An Absol is perched regally on Wonwoo’s favourite armchair in the corner. And sitting at Jun’s kitchen table, drinking jasmine tea from the most expensive tea set he owns, is Xu Minghao.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>anyone else uhhh desperately longing for the simplicity of their childhood yet unable to ignore the crushing present state of the world???</p><p>thanks for reading! chapter two is half written, i'll try to get it up asap</p><p><a href="https://twitter.com/rlybadweather">twitter</a>/<a href="https://curiouscat.me/rainiest">cc</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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